When a Gypsy Makes Her Violin Cry My lips are still But a haunting thrill Fans a smouldering fire When a gypsy makes her magic strings sigh Again to me Comes the memory Of an old desire She draws her bow And seems to know That love once hurt my heart And as she plays for me I'm lost in reverie How I treasure every measure till The last notes die When a Gypsy Makes Her Violin Cry